Finding Boaz

  Pat had told him he could come for a few minutes, when he had called that morning. He was not allowed to upset Ossy.

  "Maybe I shouldn't come. If he's too sick, it may be too late."

  "Too late for whom, Duncan? He needs to see you as much as you need to see him. You come."

  "I'll come."

  The screen door opened as he reached the top step.

  "Hello, Duncan MacLeod." She smiled politely. He felt sorry for missing the many times he had plowed into her soft middle. He stood in the small hallway. Nothing had changed but the smell. The good smell of Miss Pat's cooking was replaced by the smell of medicine. Down the hall, in the doorway of the kitchen, Duncan saw a woman in hospital scrubs.

  "She's the nurse. He's in there."

  Miss Pat showed the way with a sweep of her left arm.

  He could feel her presence in the doorway as he approached the old man. He lay with eyes closed on a hospital bed that took up the whole room.

  Duncan looked back at Miss Pat who waved him forward.

  "Mr. Gordon?"

  Ossy's eyes fluttered open. He must have been sleeping hard because he was disoriented when he woke.

  "Mr. Gordon?"

  "Who are ya? What'd'ya want?" He searched the room with his eyes. They rested on his wife just behind Duncan.

  "Pat?"

  "You remember Duncan MacLeod." Duncan stiffened for the old man's response.

  "What do you want, MacLeod?"

  "I've come to make peace with you."

  "There's no peace to be made here. You're a louse, and you know it." He pointed his thumb at Duncan.

  "Sir, I know that I was wrong that night. I apologize for my part—"

  "So you admit it! It was your fault. You did that to your best friend. My son. He was going to go in the Army. Did you know that? He wanted to fly helicopters. Did you know that? All that was gone that night. Stole by you and your reckless behavior. Even your father knew what a waste you were." He rested back on the bed. Duncan felt the stab wound his heart.

  "I hope that you can forgive me."

  "Why didn't you come before?"

  "I was afraid, sir. And then I was away in the Army. I didn't know you were so sick. I would have come sooner."

  "Afraid of what?" Ossy was clearly disgusted at the idea.

  "I don't know, sir. It all happened so fast. We were just out for some fun."

  "Some fun." Ossy no longer looked at Duncan. He was looking out the window.

  "You're right there, sir."

  "So now you've come to ease your conscience on an old man before he dies, is that it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Army teach you that?"

  "What?"

  "Honesty."

  "No, sir. My father did."

  Duncan's heart began to twist and swell. This old man was not going to forgive him, not ever. For a time in his life, the two men—Ossy and his father—had blended in his life as one. Well, at least he had tried; now all that was left was to stand here and take whatever he had to dish out. He owed him that. He fought down the emotion that threatened to spill.

  "He was a good man, Duncan."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You broke his heart." Ossy turned back to him again. "You don't hold it against him that he sent you away?" Ossy continued.

  "No, sir I don't. He did the right thing. It's not always easy to do that."

  Duncan would not allow his gaze to leave Mr. Gordon's.

  "I'm gonna die, Duncan." He heard Pat's intake of breath.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Max doesn't live here anymore. He's off gallivantin' around the world as a missionary."

  Duncan was relieved to see that he was proud of his son.

  "Martha moved to Ladysmith. But you're gonna live here, ain'tcha?" Pat left the doorway and made her way softly down the hallway toward the back of the house. Relief began to course through his muscles easing the tension out of them. He was forgiven.

  "Yes, sir. MacLeod Tours is mine."

  "I want'cha to look out for Pat. We got no more family around here."

  "Yes, sir. I will do that."

  "She'll show you where the strongbox is; she's never had a head for that stuff. I've left her well provided for. But she'll need help with it."

  "I'll do that, sir." Ossy slumped back on his pillow, waved Duncan away with his left hand, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 27

  Abby got the call Saturday night that Ossy had died at eleven that morning. Martha had come over from Ladysmith with her family to stay with Pat. The funeral was Tuesday morning.

  Abby had no trouble getting off work for the funeral because Duncan closed the doors in honor of their lifelong employee.

  It was a chilly, overcast day of fog and mist. Ossy was to be buried in the Bethel graveyard, which sat atop a small hill. From the hill, the Bay was visible when the weather was clear. Today they seemed to be standing on a cliff surrounded by clouds. Under the canopy at the grave site, on a row of metal folding chairs, sat Pat in a green plaid skirt, with her daughter, Martha, to her right. Next to Martha was her husband. Abby knew them from the pictures Pat had of them on the wall.

  Next to Pat on the left, was a tall straight-backed woman dressed in a yellow plaid skirt. Her long hair was piled up on top of her head. Abby gauged that she must be Erin MacLeod, Pat's friend. She must be related to Duncan; the resemblance was unmistakable. They did not share the same coloring, but you couldn't mistake the face. She should have put that together before.

  He was everywhere she turned. How was she ever going to stay away from him?

  Behind them were slews of people in yellow, and green and red plaids.

  Abby made her way to the back of the large group. The plaintive sound of the bagpipes began. "Amazing Grace." Andrew was playing. She could see him standing off in the distance. He was so far that the song sounded like a memory in the mist.

  She felt the tears well up in her eyes. How hard it must be for Pat, to have loved someone for so long and then to lose him. To be left all alone. She was going to miss Ossy herself. He was a forceful personality, and she had liked him.

  Before the service began Duncan appeared at her side. The sight of him in a kilt took her breath away. Beside her stood the warrior she had seen only with her imagination. He stood uncomfortably close.

  "Are you OK?"

  "No, but I will be."

  He put his arm around her. She was a little startled by the move, but comforted. Instead of pulling away as she knew she should, she leaned into him. His arms were strong, and she had been through so much lately. She had to stand through the service, and he stayed with her. After a short time, he let go of her, and they stood together.

  When the service was over, Andrew piped the haunting sound into the mist:

  "Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound..."

  After the graveside service Pat opened her house for friends and family. Abby drove to the Gordons’ behind Duncan. She was glad he had been there. He made her think of Boaz providing for Ruth, giving her his protection.

  Pat moved through the chattering people like a ghost. She smiled here and there, but she didn't cry. Erin MacLeod ran the kitchen. She had taken off her jacket and put an apron over her kilt. She kept the trays full of folded meat and cubed cheese. She refilled drinks. Strands of hair were making their way free from her coif.

  "Can I help?" Abby pulled an apron from the drawer where Pat kept them and tied it on.

  "Are you Abby?"

  "Yes. How did you know?"

  "Well, you're the only one in here helping, and you have a fine head of brown hair. Pat has told me how good you have been to Ossy. We have been friends for many years. I am Erin MacLeod." She stuck out her hand and clasped Abby's in both of hers.

  "So tell me: how do you know my Duncan?"

  Chapter 28

  “I work for him," Abby replied.

  "I see." Erin's shrewd eyes gave her the once over.

  Abby thought s
he probably saw more than Abby wanted her to see. Abby broke her gaze by looking around the counters for something to occupy her hands.

  "Why don't you make the coffee, and I'll go check on the platters out there? We were getting low on biscuits the last time I checked," Erin said as if reading her mind, then was gone.

  Abby filled the pot with water before Erin returned. Erin returned to grab a bag of rolls and scooted back out to the table. She heard Martha stop her and thank her for helping. Abby pushed the button on the coffee pot to start the brew when Duncan came in carrying two plates with rolls piled high with ham, a couple of forks of potato salad, one or two meatballs, and a few pretzels stuck on top.

  "I hope you like this stuff. I figured I better get you something or you wouldn't get any."

  "Thank you."

  Abby took the plate from him and laid it on the counter next to her. She didn't feel like eating, but she pulled apart a roll and began to nibble politely. Her eyes brimmed with tears."

  "I won't bring you food if it's gonna make you cry."

  "No, it's not that."

  She tried to control the quaver in her voice. How could she tell him about the wrenching time she'd been through? It wasn't just that Ossy was gone. Ossy's death had opened the floodgates of her grief—grief that her marriage failed; grief that she couldn't start over; grief that she was falling in love with him and could never have him.

  "It's just—I didn't want him to die."

  "I know what you mean."

  He stepped up to her and offered his arms again. Again, she leaned into him. This time her face was pressed against his chest; she lightly rested her hands on his waist. His chest was a solid wall of warmth. She could feel his heart beating; his body was full of life and strength and pressed very close to hers. Fire woke in her body. She stepped back abruptly.

  "We shouldn't do that. It'll get us into trouble."

  He gave her a knowing look.

  "I can handle that kind of trouble."

  "I bet you can."

  She laughed a little, and stepped across the room to the opposite counter.

  "But I can't."

  "Duncan." Erin entered the room in a flurry. "You're blocking the McDaniel's. Go move your car. Please."

  She tossed out the last word with a grin. Duncan smiled at Abby, his eyes alight with mischief. They were not alone for the rest of the time they were at the Gordons’ home. Erin saw to that by keeping them both busy doing odd jobs. Whether she did it purposefully or not, Abby was relieved to have something constructive to do with her hands.

  The two hours Abby spent at Pat's seemed like a full day's work when she was on her way home. The overcast sky let loose a weepy rain. The events of the day lay on her like wet, sodden clothes.

  What was she going to do with Duncan?

  He was rich and handsome, but there was something she didn't know yet. Her mom had not been forthcoming in her side of the recollection of his past. For her part, Abby could only come up with employees who thought he had stolen the family business from his brother.

  And then there was Ossy Gordon who had told her to stay away from him. Ossy had died without telling her why he felt so strongly about Duncan. And whatever else he was, Ossy Gordon had been an honest man and kind to her and Chloe. She had no reason to doubt what he said.

  It would be a couple of weeks before she could ask Pat anything about him out of respect for her loss. It was only her unruly heart that ran ahead without any direction that said, "Go for it," but this time she couldn't listen. She had to do what her head said and stay clear of the man that everyone warned her of even if she had fallen in love with him.

  As she got close to home, she decided she would go get Chloe early from school. It would be good to have a ray of sunshine on this dismal day.

  "I want to play clay!" Chloe yelled in the hallway as they walked out of the school to the car.

  "It's time to go home, Chloe."

  "I can't want to!" she hollered.

  Chloe began to cry after they got in the car, and Abby wondered if it was such a hot idea after all. Chloe cried the whole way home, and by the time Abby pulled onto her street for the second time, Chloe was hiccupping hysterically.

  She pulled into the small driveway next to a strange car. The driveway had room for just two cars, hers and her neighbor's. This car belonged to neither of them. She was too preoccupied with Chloe to worry about it much. She unbuckled the car seat for Chloe, who was too upset to do it herself.

  "Come on, Chloe. Let's go in."

  "No, I can't want to!" Abby reached in and picked her up. The child kicked and screamed. The blunt toes of her shoes kicked Abby's thighs.

  "Hush now," she soothed, but Chloe was too worked up to stop. Abby wanted to get her inside where she could sit with her and calm her down. She walked to the back door, carrying Chloe and juggling her keys. She heard a bang on the front door when she finally made it inside.

  The front doors of both apartments were encased in a small vestibule little used by either occupant. Every one of Abby's friends would have come to the back door.

  Abby stepped up to the peephole. A woman of medium height with razored blonde hair stood there, holding a clipboard.

  "Who is it?" Abby hollered through the door.

  "Social Services." The woman's deadpan voice was gravelly, scarred-by-tobacco deep. "Will you open the door, please?"

  Abby's stomach burned with fear. Social Services? What could they want?

  Chloe was still hiccupping in the background. Abby's hand was trembling as she opened the door.

  "Hello." Abby put on her best smile.

  "Hi."

  The woman's face didn't change. "Can I come in.?"

  "Sure." Abby stepped back, and the woman entered. She was shorter than Abby and very thin. Her glasses hung on a beaded chain around her neck.

  "I am Frances Gates. We've had a complaint about you."

  The woman donned her glasses and scanned the room. She wrote on her clipboard.

  Abby scanned the room and saw the breakfast dishes still in the sink.

  "What do you mean? What kind of complaint?"

  Abby picked up the sobbing Chloe.

  The social worker's face softened at Chloe into an almost smile. Chloe laid her head on Abby's shoulder and looked at the woman wide-eyed.

  Who would have complained about her? Who would do such a thing?

  "If you cooperate, it will be better for you. Do you mind if I look around? These will explain your rights." She handed Abby a stack of leaflets.

  She looked around the tiny apartment. Chloe's toys were on the floor in her room. The dishes were in the sink. There were dirty clothes in a basket in the bathroom. Her home didn't measure up. She just knew it. Even the carpet was an ugly orange. Abby started to rock Chloe.

  Who would try and take her from me?

  "Will you put the child down, please?"

  "Why?"

  "I need to see her."

  "She is only three years old."

  "I know that, ma'am."

  Abby lowered Chloe to the floor. Her heart was sinking. She held Chloe's hand and together they walked over to the woman.

  "Hi, Chloe." Frances Gate's face softened again. Like a supply clerk assessing a shipment, the smile never touched her eyes.

  "Hi." Chloe held onto Abby's hand.

  "Can you circle around for me, Chloe?"

  "No."

  "You can't?"

  "Come on, Chloe sunshine." Abby raised her hand above Chloe's head in an attempt to swing her around. Chloe wouldn't cooperate.

  "She's upset because I took her out of school early. She wanted to play with clay." Abby smiled at the woman. Ms. Gates gazed at her from the top of her glasses. She obviously had no time for such things.

  Chloe clung to Abby's leg.

  "I have seen enough today. I won't be taking Chloe with me this afternoon. You will hear from us when our investigation is complete. Here's my card. If you have any questio
ns, you may call me."

  "Good-bye, Chloe." She waved and didn't bother with the smile. "Good day to you, Ms. Ericksen."

  Abby closed the door behind the woman, being careful not to slam it into her backside as she left. She went to the kitchen and sat down. She couldn't sit still. She got up and did the dishes: two cereal bowls and two spoons. It wasn't all that much, she told herself as she scrubbed them clean and put them away. Of all the days to leave them in there. Of course she could never have known that Ms. Gates was coming.

  Chloe played with her toys while Abby worked out her agitation washing the clothes she should have done on the weekend. Ossy's death had drained her energy away and she hadn't felt like it.

  Tears began to roll down Abby's cheeks. It was all too much for one day. Ossy's burial. Duncan... A warm sensation stole over her as she remembered the feeling she had of leaning into his arms. Duncan's mother. And now this.

  How long do investigations take? Who conducts them? When will I know anything?

  She looked at her daughter on the floor playing with her dolls. She was well fed. She was outgoing. Her mom always said that her outgoing personality was good. It was a gauge of her stability.

  It couldn't be Brad because he'd had the chance to fight for her when they were getting the divorce. He didn't. He was in town now and hadn't been to see her. So it couldn't be him.

  There was no one else. Ruth? No. She was too wrapped up in her own troubles to try causing Abby problems.

  She would just have to wait until the report came. And until then she would go home.

  Abby packed an overnight bag for herself and Chloe. She put it and her dulcimer in the trunk of her car, strapped Chloe into her car seat, and headed over to her mother's house.

  It was a modest house, not unlike the Gordons’. She used her key to go inside and put her things in the guest room, the same room where she had spent so many summers. She had just dumped blocks on the floor to play with Chloe when she heard her mom's car in the driveway.

  When she saw Helen in the doorway, she began to cry.

  "What is it?" Her mom came over and sat on the floor next to her. Chloe climbed into her lap.

  "Social Services came today."

  "What!"